


Flustered

by misato



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Hair Salon AU, M/M, Makeup, at least not yet, like literal makeup like eyeliner, sorry still no eating ass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-24
Updated: 2017-01-25
Packaged: 2018-09-19 14:08:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9444779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misato/pseuds/misato
Summary: “Um, hi,” Yuuri says, smiling brightly.“Hey,” Viktor says, breathless. “I’m Viktor.”





	1. Chapter 1

Viktor Nikiforov steps into the hair salon, the bell ringing as the door swings shut behind him. It’s nearly seven o’clock, and the place is empty, save for two employees, one sweeping hair from the floor, and one standing behind the counter, looking happy that someone had walked in.

“How can I help you today? It’s too late in the day for a dye job, if that’s what you’re looking for,” the one behind the counter says with a grin.

His nametag reads ‘Phichit,’ with little hearts instead of dots on the i’s.

“I want it cut short,” Viktor replies. “I have a picture.”

He holds up his phone for the man.

“You want all that off?” Phichit says, raising his eyebrows.

Viktor’s hair is long and silky, reaching almost to his waist.

“Yeah,” he says.

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“Okay,” Phichit shrugs. “Yuuri, c’mere.”

The man sweeping leans the broom against the back wall and walks over.

He’s  _ gorgeous.  _ He has short dark hair that’s swept back beautifully, and eyes that sparkle as he smiles. Not to mention his thighs. Lord, Viktor could write poetry about those thighs, and he’d probably use about eighteen different synonyms for ‘thick.’

“Um, hi,” Yuuri says, smiling brightly. 

“Hey,” Viktor says, breathless. “I’m Viktor.”

“How much did you want off?”

He gestures vaguely to Viktor’s hair.

“Oh,” Viktor says, fumbling for his phone. “Like, all of it.”

He shows Yuuri the picture and the other man nods.

“I can do that. Come here.”

The man walks towards a row of sinks, and stops in front of one for Viktor to sit.

“Your hair is so nice,” he says, turning on the water as Viktor leans back. “It’s obvious you take really good care of it, too. Are you looking to donate it?”

“Sure,” Viktor says, closing his eyes as Yuuri runs his hands through his hair. “I dye it, though. You can’t donate dyed hair, right?”

“Oh, yeah,” Yuuri says, blushing, because it’s his job to remember that.

“What, did you think my hair was naturally silver?” Viktor teases. “I’m twenty-two, I’m not exactly turning grey yet.”

“No, I just forgot,” Yuuri says, laughing. “It is a nice color, though.”

“Thank you,” Viktor says, struggling to keep his voice steady, because Yuuri is massaging shampoo into his scalp and it feels absolutely fucking  _ amazing _ .

He opens his eyes, and that’s a mistake, because Yuuri’s leaning over him, cheeks flushed and hair falling into his face. He thinks that if he leaned up he could probably kiss that pretty mouth, and that’s a mistake, because he can feel himself blushing.

He closes his eyes and focuses on the roar of the water in his ears instead of the hands that are running gently through his hair. 

Before he knows it, it’s over.

Yuuri flips the knob and the water shuts off. He reaches for a fluffy black towel and piles Viktor’s hair into it, wrapping it over his head before gently drying it off.

Yuuri leads him to a chair, wraps a blue plastic cape around him, and continues towelling off his hair.

“You have so much hair, though. Are you sure you want it all off?”

“I always have to tie it back anyway,” Viktor says. “It gets kind of annoying.”

“You could go for a bob,” Yuuri muses. “Although you’d look kind of like one of my clients, Yurio. He’s fifteen, and he’s got perfectly blonde hair, but he’s always dyeing it different colors. Emo phases, y’know? I remember mine...”

Viktor nods; he thinks it’s cute when Yuuri goes off on a tangent, and even though he’s talking about My Chemical whatever right now instead of cutting his hair, Viktor could care less.

“Oh!” Yuuri says, realizing he’s been talking for a few minutes now. “I’m sorry. Could I see the picture again?”

Viktor hands him his phone, and Yuuri stares at the picture for a few minutes.

“So you want it cropped short, with uneven fringe? I’m assuming you don’t know blade numbers.”

“Just do what you think looks best,” Viktor says, a little daunted, and Yuuri laughs.

“Okay.”

Yuuri reaches for a pair of scissors and a comb and starts brushing out Viktor’s hair.

“Do you dye your hair yourself?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Viktor says. “I touched it up last week.”

Yuuri nods, meeting his eyes in the mirror.

“I dye hair too. You could start coming here to get it done.”

“Okay,” Viktor says automatically, because who could say no to him when he’s looking like that, bright-eyed and smiling.

“You ready to cut it off?” Yuuri asks, snipping the scissors in the air.

“Yeah,” Viktor says, and then before he knows what’s happening, his long hair spills onto the ground, piling up until he’s looking at a messy bob.

Yuuri giggles.

“You do look like Yurio.”

He keeps cutting, taking pieces between his fingers and snipping away neatly. 

“This is gonna be cute,” he says confidently before stuttering out an apology. “I mean, I wasn’t saying you’re cute or anything, I-”

“Am I not cute, Yuuri?” Viktor teases, and Yuuri looks so distressed that Viktor’s nervous for the state of his hair.

“You’re really cute, Viktor,” he breathes. “Turn to face me.”

Yuuri combs his hair into his eyes and starts cutting with scissors before using a different tool to create a wispy fringe.

“Do you like that?” he says, spinning Viktor to face the mirror. “I’m gonna clip the back and sides, but-”

“It’s perfect, Yuuri.”

Yuuri flushes pink and fumbles for the clippers.

“Okay, I’m gonna start off longer, but if you want it shorter, tell me.”

He starts shaving at the sides, using gentle movements. He doesn’t talk while he does it, he just looks at him intently.

“There,” he says. “Do you want it shorter?”

Viktor nods.

Yuuri switches the blade and keeps clipping his hair. He does Viktor’s sideburns and he’s finished.

He takes a hair dryer and starts blowing out Viktor’s fringe until it’s fluffy and soft.

“Um, you can gel it back, like I do mine, if you want.”

“Could you show me?” Viktor says sweetly, because he really doesn't want to leave, not yet, at least not until he works up the nerve to ask for Yuuri’s number.

“Ah, sure,” Yuuri says, and reaches for a tube of something.

He takes a small amount of product and bends down, his face right before Viktor’s. He gently runs it through Viktor’s hair, fingers brushing softly against his head.

“Do you like it?” Yuuri says, moving aside for a moment so that Viktor can see.

“I like it,” Viktor says, his lips quirking at the look of determination on Yuuri’s face as he moves around different pieces of hair until it looks perfect. 

They stare at each other for a single moment, unmoving.

“Um,” Yuuri says, desperate for something to say, but the tension won’t go away.

“Hey,” Phichit says from the counter, breaking the awkward silence. “Stop being gay, Yuuri. It’s eight o’clock, we’re closed.”

“Oh,” Yuuri says, blushing. “Sorry. You’re done.”

He really does seem sorry as he undoes the plastic cape and shows Viktor to the front desk.

“Yuuri,” Viktor says, handing over cash for the haircut, his voice shakier than it’s ever been in his life. “Can I have your number?”

“Like, the number for the hair salon?” Yuuri asks, tilting his head.

Phichit makes a muffled noise that sounds like a dying cat from a few feet away.

“No,” Viktor says. “Like,  _ your  _ number. Or your Snapchat. Or anything.”

“Oh,” Yuuri says, and then he gets it. “ _ Oh! _ I’m sorry, I didn’t think-”

“You don’t have to-”

“No!” Yuuri says. “I want to. I...I really like you, Viktor.”

He reaches for a Post-it note and scribbles down his cell number and hands it to Viktor, who smiles.

“See you,” he says, shoving the slip of paper into his jacket pocket, and leaves the building, the bell clanging behind him.

He goes across the parking lot and he’s nearly to his car when he hears footsteps behind him.

“Viktor!” he hears, in that perfect flustered voice.

Viktor turns, and before he knows what’s happening, he’s being kissed.

Yuuri’s mouth is soft, and warm, and he smells like hair product. Viktor can barely think. 

“God, Yuuri, you’re so beautiful,” he murmurs into the other man’s neck when they pull apart.

“I have to go help Phichit close up,” Yuuri breathes. “But I’ll text you. I promise.”

“Okay,” Viktor says, kissing Yuuri one more time before watching him walk back across the parking lot.

He finds, later that night, that he can’t stop smiling.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's part 2! i had no idea this would be so well received thank u guys :DD

Yuuri does text him, a day later.

They talk about hair gel and their favorite TV shows and all sorts of normal things.

They start hanging out, going on dates, the usual. They take it slow. They keep it casual. The reckless kiss in the parking lot is forgotten.

Viktor finds out things about Yuuri that he’d never thought to ask about: he’s fluent in Japanese, his favorite food is a deliciously unhealthy pork cutlet bowl, he knows how to do makeup as well as hair.

“Really?” Viktor says, in response to the last discovery. “Would you do mine?”

And so there he is, sitting in Yuuri’s apartment, eyes closed, getting made over.

Viktor’s an actor, so of course he’s put on stage makeup before, but nothing could have prepared him for the quantity and quality of makeup that Yuuri owns.

Yuuri had come out of his bedroom with a bag that seemed to contain thousands of makeup applicators and products and cleaners and Viktor was astounded.

He didn’t even know brushes came in that many shapes and sizes.

But Yuuri seems excited about it, and so Viktor listens, and nods, and picks out colors.

There’s so much product on his skin that it feels heavy.

Now Yuuri’s gotten incredibly close to his face; he’s been blending different shades of eyeshadow for what seems like several hours, and Viktor’s still wondering when they’re going to kiss again.

Not that they haven’t kissed since that time in the parking lot two weeks ago. They kiss sometimes. Frequently, maybe. Sure, they even made out in Viktor’s car once, after one memorable date.

But Yuuri’s addicting. With every touch, Viktor craves more. 

“Open your eyes,” Yuuri says, his mouth less than an inch from Viktor’s.

Viktor opens his eyes to see Yuuri nodding in approval and then reaching for an eyeliner pen.

He’s almost done, but they’ve been at it for nearly an hour.

Viktor doesn’t mind, though, not when it’s Yuuri.

Yuuri could talk about paint drying for an hour and Viktor would listen.

Viktor closes his eyes again so that Yuuri can wing his eyeliner. He makes cute little distressed noises while he does it.

“Oh, God, it’s bad,” Yuuri whimpers. “It’s uneven.”

“Let me see,” Viktor says.

“No!” Yuuri says, and reaches for a makeup wipe and dabs at his eye carefully before touching it up with the pen again. “Oh, there we go.”

“You’re adorable,” Viktor says, grinning.

“Which lashes do you want?” Yuuri says, and Viktor points at a pair of lush, dark lashes. 

Yuuri puts mascara on his lashes (“Don’t you  _ dare  _ blink,” he says. Viktor blinks.), and then glues the falsies on with little difficulty.

“Are we done?” Viktor says.

“Setting spray,” Yuuri says, holding up a little bottle. “And then we’re done.”

After spritzing Viktor’s face, Yuuri stares at him for a few moments.

“Fuck,” he murmurs. “You’re beautiful, Viktor.”

He reaches for a mirror, and holds it up for him. He’s right. His eyes are big and beautiful, his cheekbones even more pronounced than usual, his lips pouty and dark.

“Thank you,” Viktor murmurs.

“I’d honestly kiss you so hard right now if it wouldn’t fuck up your lipstick.”

“I don’t mind,” Viktor says, smiling.

“That lipstick was twenty-three dollars,” Yuuri moans, but then he’s kissing Viktor like his life depends on it, hands in his hair.

He slides into Viktor’s lap and kisses him harder, his thighs splayed and his crotch flush against Viktor’s own.

“Yuuri,” Viktor says, serious. “Tell me if you wanna stop, okay?”

“Don’t stop,” Yuuri gasps into his mouth. 

Yuuri lets Viktor push him down and kiss and bite over his neck, leaving a mauve trail of the overpriced liquid lipstick across his pale skin. 

“Yuuri,” Viktor breathes. “Can I take your shirt off?”

Yuuri sits up and tugs it off himself, revealing soft, smooth skin, with patterns of stretch marks slung low across his hips and over his upper arms. Viktor can see the waistband of his boxers peeking out from above his sweatpants. He’s hard, too. His erection is visible through the loose grey fabric.

“You’re amazing, Yuuri,” Viktor says, kissing over his chest and his stomach, stopping just above his crotch. “You’re beautiful, can I blow you, please?”

“Yes,” Yuuri moans, his voice broken. “In my bedroom, though.”

They kiss a little more and then stumble into the bedroom, which isn’t all that far, but feels miles away.

Yuuri sits on the bed and kicks his sweatpants off, and Viktor suddenly wants to be between those thighs more than anything.

He kneels, mouthing over his crotch, his bangs falling into his face.

Viktor tugs Yuuri’s underwear down around those delicious thighs and kisses up the side of his cock before taking it into his mouth.

_ Oh, fuck. _

It’s not like Viktor hasn’t done this before, but it’s been a while, and he feels like he might just come in his pants from the feeling of Yuuri’s cock in his mouth.

He swallows it deep, focusing on the beautiful sounds that Yuuri’s making. He moans thickly around it, undoing his own pants so that he can jack himself off.

Yuuri finishes fast, down his throat, and Viktor swallows it all, working him gently through his climax.

Viktor climbs onto the bed when he’s done, one hand still working slick between his legs.

“Can I…” Yuuri says, still sated from his release, and Viktor nods desperately.

“Please, Yuuri.”

Yuuri strokes his cock firmly, his soft hands feel so nice and so warm that Viktor finishes quickly too, his orgasm making him tremble on the bed. Come spills over Yuuri’s fingers, and Viktor watches as he lifts his hand to his lips and tastes Viktor’s release.

Yuuri says something in Japanese that Viktor can’t understand, and then goes to wash his hands.

When he returns, he starts dressing again.

“Viktor,” Yuuri says, determined, as if he’s been planning to say this. “Will you stay the night?”

Viktor blinks for a moment, then grins.

“Yeah,” he says. “I can do that.”

When he’s washed off the makeup and settled into bed next to Yuuri, he finds he’s happier than he’s ever been.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you don't like yuuri with stretch marks u can come to my house and fight me (jk)


End file.
